After returning to the womb, Ash lost consciousness. For the next two years, he slept soundly — a soul at rest, a body still forming. Yet while he slumbered in darkness, the world beyond moved swiftly.
In the capital of the Neyru Empire, within a vast golden throne room carved from dragonbone and blacksteel, a man sat upon a throne that few dared look upon directly.
He had pitch-black hair that shimmered like obsidian, and eyes the color of piercing skyfire blue. He wore imperial robes woven with mana threads and bore the crest of the Eternal Serpent. Beside him sat a woman of silver grace — beautiful, regal, and cold as starlight. Her silver hair fell in soft waves over her shoulder, and a sapphire diadem rested gently on her brow.
They were Vaerion Neyru, Emperor of Neyru, and Selyra Neyru, his Empress.
Before them stood a gathering of the highest-ranking patriarchs and matriarchs of the realm — heads of ancient noble clans, each more prideful than the last. But in this chamber, they were all beneath one name: Neyru.
Among them stepped forward an aged figure, his long beard brushing the throne room floor. His eyes glowed faintly with ethereal runes, and a serpentine staff pulsed in his hand.
He bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty," the old man said, "A prophecy has been revealed."
The room erupted in murmurs.
"A prophecy?!"
"This changes everything…"
"When was the last time a divine prophecy was made?!"
"Could it be the era of chaos again?"
"Silence."
Vaerion's voice thundered across the chamber, quieting them instantly. His eyes narrowed at the old man — a Divine Seer, keeper of fate and imperial omens.
"Rise," the Emperor commanded. "Speak. What does the prophecy say?"
The seer straightened, lifted his staff, and his voice echoed as if carried by the world itself.
"When the veiled star is cast from the heavens,
And the cursed flame is cradled by blood divine—
A thousand thrones shall rise in hunger,
But ten thousand shall fall in ash.
The scorned shall ascend where kings have knelt,
And their name shall drown the sun.
This is the time of Monarchs —
Crowned not by blood, but by ruin."
The moment the words finished, the throne room fell into complete silence. A chill swept through the air, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Vaerion's gaze shifted toward his wife. Selyra was gently caressing her belly, her fingers motionless now — as if she, too, had felt the weight of the omen.
He stood.
"From this moment forward," Vaerion declared, "monitor the births of all children across the empire for the next twelve years. In ten, when they awaken, those who show exceptional talent shall be taken in and given the best training and resources the empire can offer."
He paused.
"A storm is coming. And we will not be caught unprepared."
That single order would shake the empire to its roots.
And across the land, noble houses and commoners alike rushed to bear children — hoping, praying, desperately gambling that their bloodline might produce a child of prophecy.
----
Time passed swiftly, and a year had gone by since the revelation of the prophecy. Its words echoed across the realm like thunder beneath the skin of the world — and from it, a new generation was named.
The Era of Monarchs.
The world of Neyru, ruled for millennia by the imperial Neyru Clan, now found itself at a unique turning point. The prophecy had sparked something primal — urgency. Not war. Not rebellion. But something far more strategic.
A surge in birth rates.
All across the empire, nobles and commoners alike scrambled to secure their legacies. The hope was simple: to birth a child marked by the prophecy. After all, the last divine foretelling had reshaped continents. This one spoke of ash, crowns, and one who would rise after being scorned by all.
The Neyru Clan, composed of humans elevated to the apex of this world through blood, soul, and divine favor, had ruled Neyru for countless generations. Under their reign, the world had known only stability. Peace. Expansion. Growth.
There were no civil wars. No rebellions. Only diplomacy, conquest by alliance, and the measured acquisition of power.
That isn't to say there were no cracks in the system — but those truths would reveal themselves in time.
Inside the Grand Throne Room, Emperor Vaerion Neyru and Empress Selyra Neyru sat once more upon their twin thrones. Today, however, they were not meeting lords or seers.
They were facing their own children.
Lined before them stood the seven heirs of Neyru: four princes and three princesses, each over a century old, their power and prestige etched into every breath they took.
Vaerion's piercing gaze passed over them slowly… then settled on his eldest son.
Kaelith Neyru, Crown Prince of the Empire.
Short black hair. Deep, commanding blue eyes. A reflection of his father in both form and presence.
"Kaelith," Vaerion began, voice firm, "you will take your brothers and visit several of our lower-tier worlds. I want you to observe the new births — if any display exceptional potential, bring them and their families back to the capital."
Kaelith's expression darkened slightly.
"Father… that will take two to three years of travel. I'll miss the birth of our little brother."
"Yeah! How can we miss the birth of a Neyru!"
The voice came from Velric Neyru, the third prince — silver hair streaked with black, and eyes always dancing with mischief and insight.
"Hehe, it's all right," another voice chimed in cheerfully.
This time it was the eldest princess, Ary Neyru, a flawless reflection of Selyra's beauty and bearing. "We'll take care of baby brother once he arrives!"
The tone in the room had shifted — softened by sentiment. But not for long.
Selyra's voice rang clear, composed, and cold as moonlight.
"Enough. Kaelith, you have your orders. The quicker you leave, the quicker you return. The prophecy has already been known for over a year. We cannot afford complacency."
Her words struck deeper than a command — they carried the weight of foresight.
Kaelith sighed, bowing his head in reluctant acceptance.
"...Fine, Mother. I'll leave by tomorrow."
The other princes exchanged glances — some excited, others annoyed — but they understood the gravity of their mission.
And so, one by one, the imperial siblings departed.